Thank you for all the reviews! Responses on my LJ later. Sorry this chapter is late, but I couldn't log in; in the future, if there's a problem with that, the chapter will be on my LiveJournal.
This is the first chapter of five that are heading towards the end of the story; from the end of this chapter forward, they all take place on the same day. The tension is going to go spang. I can promise you that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Home Is The HunterHarry wound down at last. He sat back on his bed and wondered what Draco was thinking.
Draco sat on his own bed, his legs folded beneath him, in the same position he'd adopted since Harry had told him he wanted to talk to him. He'd listened while Harry recited all the reasons that their friendship should ease. There were his father's status and danger to Harry, of course, but there were also the future conflicts that would spring up between Voldemort's side and Harry's, the fact that Draco was obviously unhappy being second to Connor in Harry's affections and loyalty, the pureblood customs that said Draco should really pay more attention to friends who weren't such political liabilities, Draco's dislike of Connor, Harry's inexperience, even now, within Slytherin House, and many, many others.
Harry had spent all the flight back from Godric's Hollow composing them. He was sure Draco would respond to one of them—to the fondness that he could sense behind the words, if nothing else. He would know that Harry wouldn't have wanted him safe so desperately if Harry didn't care about him. He would agree, because what else could he do?
"No, Harry," said Draco calmly.
Harry blinked at him. He had expected a thunderous outburst if he did get disagreement, tears and shouts that he could ease past, and that would in themselves lessen the friendship between them by introducing rifts of distrust. This serene refusal was not supposed to happen.
"What?" he responded. It wasn't the most intelligent thing he'd ever said, and the amused smirk on Draco's face let him know it. But the smirk disappeared in the next second, and he leaned forward, eyes intent.
"No, Harry," he said. "None of those matter next to my friendship with you."
"Family loyalty has to, Draco," said Harry. "Remember, I know well enough what purebloods teach their children." The words made him wince, for some reason. He supposed he connected them to the conversation with James. He shoved the thoughts away. Whenever he thought about Godric's Hollow, he felt all twitchy.
"It matters," said Draco. "But so far, Harry, I've managed to contain the damage that could have caused. And until something actually happens to split us apart, then I'm staying. Unless you don't mean to give me a choice, of course. Do you mean to use compulsion magic on me?"
Harry flinched. "Of course not!" His voice carried a desperate edge he didn't understand. Sylarana hissed soothingly on his arm, and Draco blinked at him, then reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Well, then," said Draco slowly. "I still have the right and the will to make a choice. And I choose to be with you, Harry. I choose to remain your friend until something happens that makes me choose to split our friendship apart."
"And what if I betray you?" Harry whispered. "What if our friendship lasts until the War begins, and then I leave to fight at Connor's side?"
Draco just watched him. Harry couldn't tell what he was feeling, as he was deliberately keeping every emotion out of his gray eyes. "Then it lasts until then," he said. "That's still years more than you would let me have if I turned my back on you and sulked right now."
"It's not that I don't want to let you have them," Harry said, peering at Draco. "It's that—circumstances are forcing this, not me."
Draco snorted, then, and allowed a frown to cross his face. "Oh, at least have the courage to claim your own actions, Harry. You should know as well as I do that that's not true at all. Circumstances would be my father trying to kill you, or your brother forcing you to choose between him and me. No one at all is forcing this but you."
Harry put his head down, breathing shallowly. "I just want you safe," he whispered.
"I know that."
Harry glanced up to see Draco holding the bottle again. It shone with the steady purple color of protectiveness, and the only thing brighter than it was his smug smile. Harry sighed. "I should never have given you that bloody thing."
"Yes, you should have," said Draco. "It's reassured me more times than you can know, Harry. And it reassures me now that you aren't doing this because you've suddenly turned against me in some fiery burst of hatred." He moved over to the bed with one arm still wrapped around the bottle, and wound the other around Harry's shoulders. He leaned his head on Harry's and sighed. "You came back," he said. "I wasn't sure that you would."
Harry shook his head. He knew he should be feeling stern and disappointed, since his attempt to force Draco away hadn't taken. But he could only smile as he buried his face in Draco's hair and hugged him back. "I'll always try to come back."
"You better," said Draco. "Or I'll come after you and drag you back myself."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He had meant to give some taunt, but he couldn't, not when Draco's voice was serene affection undergirded with layers of steel.
They sat there in silence for a bit longer, until Draco remembered that he hadn't finished his Transfigurations homework and scrambled for it. Harry found himself frequently glancing at the bottle as the evening wore on, as if he needed his own kind of reassurance.
"Nothing?" Snape could not have sounded more disappointed, Harry thought, if he had confessed that he still wanted to be in Gryffindor.
"Nothing, sir," Harry repeated, and handed him the slim books back. "The only thing I found of interest is that phoenix magic can't be used in any Dark Arts spells. That means that the web in my mind, whatever it is, has to be of the Light."
He blinked when an enormous relaxation flooded his muscles in the next instant. It was as if he had been carrying a weight he didn't know he was carrying, and now could let it drop. Was it just the mention of the web not being Dark Arts that had done it? And why, if so?
Do not worry about it, instructed Sylarana. He could feel her moving and shifting in his thoughts, though he couldn't always tell what she touched. I will take care of it. I will take care of everything.
"Why did the werewolf come to Hogwarts?"
Harry found himself abruptly focused outward again, his attention on Snape's face and his heart pounding hard in his chest. Snape was watching him. The question had sound casual with a side of irritation, but Snape's eyes narrowed further the longer Harry took to answer, and he knew that he would rouse the man's suspicions if he delayed much longer.
"He—he wanted to consult with you on the Wolfsbane Potion, didn't he?" Harry said, stuttering as he grasped at straws. "He—he told me it was nearly done when he came back to Godric's Hollow."
"He consulted with me," said Snape, and paced forward a few steps from behind his desk. "That is not the reason he originally came here. When I asked him why, he laughed uncertainly, rubbed his head, and said that he didn't know, really, and he should be getting back to Godric's Hollow and spending time with his friends." The vicious bite Snape gave that word was really quite magnificent, Harry thought.
"He did come back—"
"And now, this," Snape whispered. "I know the signs of someone desperate to hide a secret, Potter, and you are that. The stammering, the flushed cheeks, avoiding my eyes. What is it? Why do you fear to talk about the werewolf with me?"
Harry forced himself to meet Snape's gaze, all the while keeping his Occlumency shields up. "You don't care about Remus. You would have been just as happy to see him dead if you could."
"And deprive myself of a test subject for the Wolfsbane? Never." Snape was smiling with his eyes, sneering with his lips. "But I find it interesting that, two weeks after the werewolf leaves Hogwarts displaying the telltale signs of an Obliviate, you come back and display the telltale signs of someone with a secret to hide." He tilted his head. "Did you do it, Potter? Did you Obliviate him?"
"No," Harry whispered. He could feel the world narrowing down to a tunnel, at the end of which was a light shining as fierce as fire. Hot hands seemed to squeeze his forehead, pressing in waves of pain. It had been a mistake to come here, he thought, even if he hadn't had a choice; Snape had commanded him to attend an Occlumency lesson after a week of avoiding them. "No, I didn't."
"But you know who did."
"Don't—" said Harry, and dropped to one knee as the pain and the heat grew worse. He felt a hand grab at his arm, but that didn't ease the agony. He was breathing hard now, memories swimming just under the surface of his mind, ready to breach it if he looked for them.
He didn't want to look for them. He didn't want to see.
"Tell me," Snape whispered. "Tell me."
"Why do you care?" Harry asked, in a last-ditch effort to make things go back to the way they had been. Everything around him was light and fire, and the phoenix song in his ears made it hard to hear his own words. "You don't care about Remus, I know that. And you don't care about what happens to me, beyond it giving you a chance to humiliate my father and Sirius."
"I do not give children Occlumency lessons for the pleasure of humiliating old school rivals, Potter," Snape replied, and Harry heard his robes rustle as he knelt in front of him. "And this has gone beyond that. You should know that now. It went beyond the first time that Tom Riddle, and all that he is, tainted your mind. I will not see him rise like this." There was a long pause, and then he added, "And I will not see him gain a victory by corrupting or distressing you. Tell me who Obliviated the werewolf."
Harry was falling towards light and fire. If he opened his mouth and said Dumbledore, he knew, the web would snap into the front of his mind and burn it. He could recover, but it would take time, time during which he might not be able to help Connor or convince anyone he was living a normal life.
And he wanted to convince them of that. He didn't want anyone to find out about the web. He could hear what his mother would say. They wouldn't understand, Harry…
And inspiration came to save him.
"Lockhart," he gasped.
The web vanished, and cool darkness appeared in its place. Harry sagged into Snape's arms, his breathing ragged. He tried to push himself away again at once, but Snape held him still, hands combing through his hair. He thought that Snape paused and stared at his scar for a time, but if so, he wasn't in the mood to make ridiculous comments on it.
"Lockhart?" Snape whispered. "The man is a fool. He cannot tell which end of a wand is which."
"I found him out," Harry whispered, glorying in the relief that flooded his head and heart as they moved further and further away from the web. "He didn't really defeat any of those monsters or have any of those adventures that he writes about in his books, you know. He sought out wizards and witches who defeated the monsters, took down their stories, and then Obliviated them so they would forget having done it." Harry breathed for a long moment. "He tried to Obliviate me after I found out his secret, but I bounced it off me."
"You bounced it off you." Snape's voice was flat.
"I used the Occlumency shields to smash it to dust." The last of the pain was gone. Harry sat up and propelled himself backwards. Snape let him go, watching him with fathomless dark eyes all the while. "It wasn't something I planned, but I saw it coming at me and then bounced it several times."
Snape closed his eyes, breathing lightly, before he opened them and stared again at Harry. "I have never heard of that."
"It's true." Harry took a step backwards, feeling defensive. Sylarana crooned at him, and this time, Harry could feel her wind herself tighter into the webs of his mind.
"I have no doubt that it is true," Snape said. "The impossible is possible with you." He spent a long moment studying Harry, then rose to his feet in a graceful swirl of black robes. "You are telling the truth about Lockhart," he said. "I will make sure that Dumbledore knows of this, though he is unlikely to sack the man before the end of the year. We need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and he will not give the post to me." He sneered through his teeth.
"Professor?" Harry asked uncertainly, not sure if he should stay or go. "Is it possible to recover memories from behind an Obliviate?"
"It is possible," Snape agreed, folding his arms and tilting his head like an enormous bird. "But dangerous. The Obliviate is a block on the mind, and dangerous in the way that solid shields always are. If it is simply broken and the memories released in a rush, then they can cause the wizard to go insane." He leaned abruptly near to Harry. "Do not, do not, Mr. Potter, attempt to break the block on the werewolf's memories. Whatever Lockhart wanted him to forget was no doubt trivial. I will teach you to break such a block in time. For now, unless you want your precious Lupin to go mad, do not attempt it."
But it wasn't Lockhart, it was Dumbledore—
And Harry was on his knees with the roar and whoosh of flames in his head again, and Sylarana hissing in agitation. He felt her curl around something and tug, and then the flames quivered and fell still.
Snape had a hand on his shoulder again. "Do you want to tell me, Mr. Potter," he whispered, "what that was?"
"I can't," Harry whispered, and the pain retreated a bit. "Not yet. Sylarana is—trying to help me with it."
"One day, you must learn to stand on your own without the benefit of that snake," Snape murmured, but so softly that Harry could pretend he hadn't heard him. They stayed like that in silence for a few moments, and then Snape removed his hand. "Go," he added, turning away. "There will be no Occlumency lessons for tonight."
"Why not, sir?"
Snape glanced over his shoulder, and Harry told himself he imagined the spark of compassion in his eyes, or that he had mistaken it for something else. "Because your mind is fragile enough already," he said quietly, and then gestured Harry out the door. Harry stepped out, shut it behind him, and stood in the hall, blinking.
He…he almost sounded as if he cared what happened to me…
But without such strong evidence as there was of Draco's attachment to him, Harry could shake it off, and he did that, striding down the corridor towards the Slytherin common room. He had promised to play a game of Exploding Snap with Blaise, and help Pansy with her Transfigurations homework.
He was trying to live like a normal person, he thought. He was trying to avoid thinking about the web.
As you should, said Sylarana. The web will be gone very soon.
How do you know?
I will make sure of it.
With that, Harry thought, he had to be content.
"You can't actually want to take Divination," said Zacharias Smith, leaning over Harry's shoulder to peer at his schedule. Harry glanced at the Hufflepuff in annoyance. He was sitting in the hospital wing, between Luna's and Neville's beds, and trying to choose his classes for next year—and it was no accident that he had come here. He wanted to do this in peace and quiet, and he had counted on having it, since almost everyone else was at the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch game, the last one of the year.
"Yes, I can," said Harry, and pointedly turned his back on Zacharias. Things had been strained between them since Slytherin beat Hufflepuff soundly in their last Quidditch game, mostly due to Harry snatching the Snitch right out from under Cedric Diggory's nose. Justin and Hannah had shaken his hand afterwards. Ernie had sulked, but got over it. Zacharias had immediately started to pick at his technique, and hadn't stopped picking about something since, in every class he shared with Harry.
"Why?" Zacharias started to sit down on Luna's bed, caught Harry's glare, and flopped into a chair instead. His gaze remained intent and interested. "Everyone knows that Trelawney is a fraud. Everyone."
"I know," said Harry patiently, and went back to scanning the selection of classes he could take in his third year. "But that doesn't matter. She might have good material in her class in spite of herself, and anyway, Connor is taking it."
Zacharias made a mild disgusted noise. Harry ignored that, too. One good thing about the disagreeable Hufflepuff targeting him was that he no longer targeted Connor. And Connor was doing better, now. He'd almost made up with Hermione.
"How long are you going to be in your brother's shadow?" Zacharias asked, leaning towards Harry. "Most of my House might not hate him quite so much anymore, but we still know that you're more powerful than he is."
"Power doesn't mean everything," Harry murmured, quelling the first traces of the headache that had sprung up the moment Zacharias began questioning him about Connor. It did that all the time now. Whatever the golden web's business was in his mind, Harry hoped it would finish it soon, or that Sylarana would tug on it—ah, there she was—and quell the pain permanently. He was breathing more easily in a moment as she soothed the web. He scratched a firm "yes" next to Divination and went on looking over the other classes. He half-wanted to take Care of Magical Creatures just because Connor was taking it, but he had promised Draco that he would at least consider joining him in Arithmancy.
"It means a lot," said Zacharias. "And sometimes you hear the most intriguing rumors, you know."
"Rumors?" Harry kept his eyes on the paper, but he could feel his shoulders tense up again. "About what?"
"About what power means," said Zacharias carelessly. Harry knew that if he looked up, he would find the Hufflepuff's eyes weren't careless at all, that he was leaning forward with an intent expression. He didn't look up. "About what it might mean if someone has a lot of power, and is in Slytherin House, and has saved a few lives besides."
Harry sighed as he once more felt the pain well behind his eyes. He took off his glasses and rubbed them. "I'm not the next Voldemort, Zacharias, if that's what you're trying to imply."
Zacharias laughed. "Of course not! When did You-Know-Who ever save lives? But I think you might be something else." He leaned forward, voice taunting. "Don't you want to know what that is?"
"I'll pass, thanks," Harry said as coolly as he could, and then turned his head with relief as he heard footsteps outside the hospital wing. Draco was coming back, then. He'd nipped out to see how the Quidditch game was going. He couldn't stand not seeing the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, beat Connor.
Draco dragged back in, looking sulky. Harry hid a smile. "Connor won, then?" he asked casually.
"Stupid Ravenclaws," said Draco, and kicked the foot of Luna's bed. He went to sit down, but Zacharias was in his chair. He settled for glaring at the Hufflepuff, then folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Harry. "And stupid you. You don't have to look quite so smug, you know."
"Three Galleons," said Harry. "It was only three."
"He probably cheated."
Harry winced as the headache once more began to pound. Is my web going to act up every time someone says something negative about Connor? It's going to hurt me a lot, then. He let Sylarana soothe it before he shrugged and said, "He's just a naturally good Seeker, Draco. I told you." He held out his hand. "Pay up."
Draco, sulking harder still, dug three Galleons out of his pocket and slipped them into Harry's palm. Harry took them, gave Draco a beatific smile, and slid them into his own pocket. He was breathing more easily now. Keep the conversation away from Connor, and he found that he could function. He spent almost all his time around the Slytherins now for precisely that reason. They had more interesting things to talk about, at least in their view, than the Boy-Who-Lived.
The web isn't going to go away if you ignore it, you know, Sylarana said abruptly in his head.
Harry ignored her, too. She was working to soothe the pain, wasn't she? And she was confident that she was well on her way to controlling it, wasn't she? He didn't see what the problem was.
Harry, she sighed at him, and went back to whatever problems in his mind so occupied her.
Harry shifted to make room for Draco on the edge of his chair, prepared to ignore Zacharias. He had just about decided to take Arithmancy when more footsteps sounded down the hall, and Madam Pomfrey ducked into the hospital wing, beaming. She held a beaker of some thick liquid in her hand.
Harry caught his breath. He had hoped he would be here when the potion was ready, but he hadn't thought it would be this soon. "Is that…?"
"Yes, dear," said Pomfrey, bustling over to Luna's and Neville's beds. "The Mandrakes matured, and Professor Sprout plucked them and Professor Snape brewed them. We can finally revive Miss Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom." She beamed at him, and then bent over and spooned some of the lumpy, glistening yellow potion into Luna's mouth, rubbing her throat so she would swallow.
Luna trembled, her eyes abruptly blinking for the first time in months, her limbs shaking after that, her head twitching. Harry watched her swallow more of the potion, and then she turned and looked directly at him. He prepared for some form of accusation. After all, he was probably the last thing she would have seen before she was Petrified, other than the basilisk's eyes.
Instead, she said gravely, "I know it wasn't you, Harry. It was a plot by the Ministry. They couldn't find a Crumple-Horned Snorcack, so they had to use a snake instead."
Harry leaned forward and hugged her, not sure how he felt at the moment as waves of emotion trembled through him. Then they sorted themselves out, and became relief, and amusement, and a heart-pounding sensation of joy. She's still here. She's awake. She doesn't blame me.
Madam Pomfrey had moved on to Neville. Harry held his breath, his arms still around Luna, as the Gryffindor boy jerked back to life. He trembled far more than Luna had, his eyes darting from side to side as if he expected the basilisk to emerge from around a corner or under the bed. Then he saw Harry and paled.
"It wasn't Harry," Luna assured him gravely. "It was the Ministry."
Neville didn't look as if he understood this at all, but he nodded timidly. If nothing else, Harry thought, as he shifted and extended an awkward hand to the other boy, he probably knows that I wouldn't be allowed in here with them if I'd really meant to hurt them.
"I'm sorry that happened, both of you," he whispered. "I was possessed. It's gone now, but it was horrible while it lasted, and you suffered the brunt of it. I'm so sorry."
Luna said, "I was right. It was the Wrackspurts."
"I—I don't blame you, Harry," said Neville, giving him a shy smile. "You didn't look at all like yourself, you know. I knew that you didn't have red eyes, or hair that stood on end and moved by itself."
Harry chuckled at the thought of the picture he must have presented, and leaned closer to them. For a moment, at least, all was right with the world, and he was intent on leaving it that way.
"Harry?"
That was his brother's voice. Harry sat up, rearranged himself so that he had his left hand on Neville's shoulder and his right hand on Luna's, and faced the door.
Connor lingered shyly there, his hand opening and closing as though he didn't know what to do with himself. He was still dressed in his scarlet Quidditch robes, and his hair hung frazzled over his ears. He met Harry's eyes and then glanced away, looking at the ground and biting his lip.
"Connor," said Harry. "I heard you caught the Snitch. Congratulations." He hesitated, then decided he could say it without it sounding like a taunt to Connor and awakening the web. "I bet Draco that you could. He didn't believe me, and so I have three of his Galleons now."
Connor looked back up at that, smirking. "You should learn not to bet against the Potters, Malfoy."
Draco grunted something under his breath.
Connor appeared to realize exactly what was happening for the first time, his eyes widening as he looked at Luna and Neville. "They're awake?" he whispered.
"Yes!" Harry abruptly laughed, the emotions boiling in him too hard to be contained. "Un-Petrified. Awake. Themselves again." He wasn't sure why he said what he did next, except that he didn't think he could contain the words. "And they don't blame me."
Connor froze for a long moment, then blinked as if in surprise and smiled. "That's wonderful, Harry," he said quietly. "I—I'm going to go change out of my Quidditch gear now. See you at dinner?"
Harry nodded, smiling still, and watched Connor leave the hospital wing. He rolled his eyes, but said nothing, when he noted that Zacharias stood and followed him. Sometimes his twin had to fight his own battles, and he really didn't want to leave Luna and Neville right now.
The web tried to pulse at him for thinking that, but Sylarana caught and caged it this time before it could do any damage. Harry let out his breath, and started answering Luna's and Neville's questions about how long they had been Petrified, and let himself think it really would be all right.
"Prat," Draco said, shoving him in the shoulder as they finally emerged from the hospital wing. "Did you have to tell them about the bet?"
"They heard me tell Connor about it," said Harry, and gave him a shove back. "What was I supposed to do when Neville asked me about it? Lie?"
"Yes. I'm your best friend. You're supposed to lie for me." Draco gave him a glare that would have been more intimidating if it didn't look like he was going to break into laughter at any moment.
"I'm a terrible liar," said Harry, lying through his teeth.
Draco laughed aloud, and then Professor McGonagall came around the corner, and all Harry's mirth died at the expression on her face.
"Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "Please come with me."
Harry followed her in silence. He knew where they were going before they rounded the corner on the second floor, but he did not know what he would see. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for it.
Zacharias Smith lay motionless beside a puddle of water outside the girls' loo where, Harry thought now, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets had to be located. He was still, but Harry thought he was Petrified, not dead. Please let him not be dead. Please.
And then he saw the writing on the wall, and was too terrified even to pray.
Potter—
I've taken your brother. So nice a home his scar made for me.
Tom Riddle.